Misc Ideas and Fragments
by Anime-Ronin
Summary: Just stuff I wanted to put out there somewhere.  Might evolve into stories, probably will not.
1. Chapter 1

Past Life, New Chances

Author: Anime Ronin

Rating: Mature

Summary: A trip to the summer fair leads to revelations.

Disclaimer: I own nozzing!

1

(Outskirts of Sunnydale)

"Alright, tell me again how this has fallen to me?"

Buffy smiled sweetly at him as she continued to push/prod him towards the tent in question, "Well, Willow said something about her mom and the mind sciences and not wanting to get into that."

"Alright, I'll concede that."

"And you'd probably have her make me bark like a dog or cluck like a chicken when you ring a bell, never mind what the Master did to me."

Xander flinched, but then nodded, "Alright, touché, but-"

Buffy didn't stop, though. "So that leaves you by process of elimination because Giles is being all Giles-like and has gone back to England."

Xander pouted and whined, "Whose idea was it to come to this popcorn fair anyway?"

Buffy gave him a semi-gentle shove, "Yours. Now go, get hypnotized. I put off going to LA early for this, so I need to get my money's worth."

Xander stumbled into the tent that held the hypnotist, muttering about levels lower than 'lackey' and Buffy having earned them when he looked around. It was... well, it was a tent. Maybe ten feet by ten feet square, dark, with a pair of chairs, a table and some chairs along the side as the only adornments save for a few lamps. The exterior had held up the whole 'gypsy fortune teller / shyster' schtick but inside... not so much.

"Ah, good afternoon, young man." Xander turned around and saw a woman stepped out of a curtained-off portion of section that he had not noticed before. She was strikingly beautiful, though obviously starting to get along in the years, in fact she could have passed for Raquel Welch's sister if not for her long black hair, deep blue eyes and skin that reminded him more of his grandmother's china plates with how pale yet glowing it was. Dressed in a pair of loose pants and a blouse, she wouldn't have looked out of place at Joyce's art shop or at a restaurant.

"Um... hi."

The woman chuckled, "Welcome to my place of business. The sign outside says 'Madame Helga', but please, call me Ruth."

"Um, Xander, that's me."

Again the woman chuckled, "'Xander'? How odd."

"Short for Alexander. A friend of mine couldn't say it when she was younger, so she shortened it."

Ruth nodded, "Indeed. Beware, though; names have power and if you know someone's true name, you can control them... or so the old legends state. Myself, I control others through different means."

Xander kept his eyes on hers and away from her ample chest, or her statuesque appearance, "Um... okay."

She chuckled and motioned for him to go towards the seats, "Please, sit. I finished a session about an hour ago and don't have anything planned for another two, so I have some time to work. Now tell me, Xander, what is it you're in here for?"

"Honestly? I don't know. Two friends of mine opted out of coming in here with me," he explained before he turned back to the tent flap and shouted, "cowards!" before he turned back to the now highly-amused Ruth, "and rightfully so, I guess."

"You guess? Do I scare you?"

"Um, no, no, but one of them has a mother who is into the whole 'nature/nurture' thing and tends to use her like a science experiment at times and the other... well, she was almost killed recently and it's still a little fresh."

"Ah," Ruth 'ah'd' with a nod. "So, they balked and you caved."

Xander's blush answered for him.

Ruth nodded, "Alright, then. Take a seat and I'll be right back."

Xander sat as told and took several breaths. He had _not_ caved... he hadn't. Either way, though, it was him sitting in the chair while Ruth went around to the lamps and poured something into them, something that began to fill the tent with a spicy, almost ginger-like scent before she came back to where he sat and smiled.

"Alright, then, we're just going to get you to relax, Xander. I want you to close your eyes and let your mind begin to wander."

"Are you sure that's safe? I've been told it's too small to let out by it's own before," Xander joked.

Ruth's chuckle was not as amused this time, more of the 'humor him' set. "Just let your mind begin to drift, Alexander. Take a deep breath in, that's good, now hold it for a few seconds and then let it out. In... out. In through the nose and out through the mouth... very good..."

The heady scent in the tent, the dim nature of said tent, Ruth's calming voice and his own actions started to have an effect as he felt his heart begin to slow down and h is brain begin to fuzz just a bit, like he was falling asleep. Ruth began to to speak of doors, colors and walking through them, of rooms that were specific shapes and sizes, of things that were there and of things that were not. In his mind's eye, Xander could see every one of these and it would have been slightly freaky if not for the fact he was on the barest edge of having any control over it. Finally, though, she stopped with the doors, the rooms and all of that and told him that he was staring into a mirror, a mirror that would let him see something important, something known only to him.

"Tell me, Xander. Tell me what you see."

Xander Harris opened his mouth and screamed as the mirror in his mind shattered.


	2. Home and Hearth

Home and Hearth

Author: Anime Ronin

Rating: M

Summary: It started with a promise to a dying comrade. It ended up saving his soul.

Disclaimer: I do not own BtVS, any aspect D&D or the Boondock Saints; don't bother suing me because the papers'll be used for something important, like TP or as birdcage liner.

AN: A little idea I've had kicking around for a while. Nothing too serious. If it develops past the fetal stage, I'll be impressed.

1

(St. Mary's Cathedral, Boston, Mass.)

He sat out in the gardens and looked around; the place was old, he could feel it in his very bones, and it wasn't that bad of a day for the middle of June. The sun was beating down, the trees were giving some merciful shade, the grass had been mowed a few days prior, just long enough for the smell to fade, and someone had been spreading fertilizer around. Not far off was Fenway Park and, if he'd read the paper right, there was going to be a game there later on that night. Maybe he'd stop by and see what the fuss was all about.

"Alexander?"

He looked up and couldn't help but smile a little at the weathered old priest, looking just like Faith had told him he would. "Father Prince."

The weathered old man smiled a little and motioned him to follow, which Xander did, though with his cargo in tow. "You called, of course, and I have to say that this is rather peculiar. You want to inter someone's ashes that was not a parishioner?"

"That's right, Father. Her… her mother is here, mother save but blood. The woman who saved her soul," Xander said, remember the conversation that they had had about it. It was surreal at times, but Faith truly believed that, had Diana Dormer not shown up when she had, she wouldn't have seen the next week.

Father Prince nodded at this as they entered his offices and sat, opening a ledger, "I see. Was she Catholic?"

"I don't know. She believed, I can tell you that, but I think that her faith only went so far." Xander admitted.

The priest nodded sadly at this, "I see. If I may ask… how did she pass?"

"She died in my arms. I… I tried to save her," Xander said quietly, his voice growing thick, "but there's only so much one man can do, you know?"

"You were her friend, then?"

"I was as close to a friend as she had. Faith didn't give out her trust, not after what happened, but I like to think that I was earning it," he said with a smile. It had been a hard road, that much was sure, and there had been no small amount of misgivings about it, but it had seemed that they had turned a corner of sorts when…

Father Prince nodded sadly, "I see. I can have her ashes placed close to Ms. Dormer's ashes, if you would like."

Xander's mind froze for a second. He had never said Diana's name, not even in passing. "And where do you come up with that particular name, Father?" Xander's tone was even, level and promising pain to the kindly old priest.

Father Prince held up his hands placatingly, "I am not just an old priest, Alexander. I have my ears to the ground for many things and I know who Faith was… what she was."

This did not make Xander feel any better. In fact, he was truly missing his sword right then… "You're not helping yourself, padre. What do you know?"

"I know of the unholy things that kill and injure so many people in this world, who damn so many immortal souls to slake their sanguine thirst. Word gets around, you see."

"I'm sure I'd rather not," Xander growled, shaking his head as he started to get to his feet. "Look, this was a bad idea."

"You said that it was her last wish to be interred here, yes? It can very easily be done, with God's blessings, just please do not be angry." The old priest implored Xander, causing him to stop. "Things are not always what they appear to be, nor are people. You would know that better than anyone, I would think."

Xander looked at the bag in his right hand and forcibly calmed himself down, his mind repeating tenants of a faith that was not his, of one that did not exist outside of a game, asking for the wisdom and strength to forgive those whom had offended him and guidance. He was, somewhat surprisingly, calmed after a few seconds and his shoulders slumped a bit. Was this why Faith had been like she had been? Burned once too often? Too asked of her too quickly? "I'm sorry, Father. It's… it's not an easy thing," he said as he turned back around.

The priest sighed and motioned for him to sit back down, "I understand, truly I do. The service would not take long, only a half-hour or so. We could do it today if you would like."

"I would like that. I think she would, too. Besides, it would be a little difficult to get into Fenway with her urn to see her Sox try and take down the Yanks."

This brought a smile to the old priest's face and he nodded, "Oh, I understand. I can't stand either team, personally, but you would be surprised how often such requests happen."

It took about a half an hour for all of the requisite things to be set into motion, along with the rather delicate question of payment for services rendered. Xander had shocked the man by reaching into his bag and, after a few seconds of rooting around, producing a leather pouch, bouncing it a few times before tossing it over. Inside were a dozen gold coins, about one ounce each, and the old man had crossed himself a few times before looking at Xander in shock.

"If you need more, I have more. The guy won't be needing them where he is."

"I… I… I must ask. Did you…" he looked around and then whispered, "Did you steal these?"

"Can you steal from the dead? Well, yes, you can, but is it morally wrong to take from someone who tried to kill you?" Xander asked with a half-smile. He then shook his head a little, "It was the spoils of war, Father, and that's all that needs to be said about it."

This seemed to mollify the priest a little but then he paused and seemed to hesitate before he asked, "Are you… perchance looking to do something? Something… helpful, maybe?"

"I always try to help, padre, but something is making my Spider-sense tingle a bit. What do you have in mind?"

"Well… there are two boys from around here. Well, I call them boys, but I believe that they are on a mission from God."

"If their names are Jake and Elwood Blues, I think you've got the wrong guy, Father."

Surprisingly, Father Prince laughed at this, shaking his head, "No, no, not those two. I mean the MacManus brothers. Have you heard of them?"

"Can't say as I have. Should I have?"

Father Prince smiled, "Oh, I think you should have. As I said, they do God's work but I fear that they have bitten off a wee bit more than they can chew."

Xander didn't like where this was headed.

(Oakwood Warehouse, Midnight)

'I hate it when I'm right.' Xander thought sourly as he watched a trio of vampires string the two brothers up by their ankles and start piling up broken pallets for a bonfire.

The brothers were a bit banged up, yes, but they were also arguing. Loudly.

"If you had just stuck to the plan-"

"You and your stupid fucking plans, Connor! What movie did you steal this one from?"

"I didn't steal it from a movie!"

"Yes you did!"

"No I didn't!"

"Will you two shut up and die with some dignity? Christ Almighty, you'd think the 'Saints of South Boston' would be a little more mature than this," one of the vampires, a big guy with a head of shaggy black hair and a surprisingly rotund gut snarled, shaking his head and palming his face.

Xander closed his eyes. This was what the priest had been talking about. Wonderful. He'd bet his bottom dollar and last donut that these brothers didn't have a clue what they were getting into, either.

'I could just walk away,' he tried to rationalize with himself. 'I got here too late. They were already dead. Yeah, the priest'll believe that.'

The problem was, though, he wasn't sure _HE_ could deal with it.

"Why don't you fuckers cut us down and fight us fairly? We'll show you how the Irish _really_ fight," one of the brothers taunted the vampires as one of the undead came up with a jerry can. He was shorter, with dark hair, a scraggly beard and one of his eyes were swelling shut.

"Aye, that's right, a rousing good time it'll be," the other one said, his accent wavering slightly. He was taller, had lighter hair that looked to have one time been blonde (natural or otherwise, Xander wasn't sure), and had a goatee.

"Hm… how about… no." the fat vampire said with a smile as he produced a lighter and flicked it open.

Seeing that things were about to kick off, Xander reached into his bag and produced his opening volley, his version of the 'Holy Hand Grenades of Antioch': water balloons.

Things pretty much deteriorated from there.

AN: Like I said, I'm not sure if I'm going to continue this. Let me know what you think (and, yes, I know it's rushed – if I make more of this, it'll be fleshed out even more).


	3. The Slayer, The Watchers and the Valley

The Slayer, the Watchers and the Valley

Author: Anime Ronin

Rating: Mature, possibly Adult.

Summary: Mike has a big problem on his hands when Katya suddenly starts throwing Killjoy around like he was made of tissue paper. His problems don't get any better when two Scoobies show up to train her.

Disclaimer: Joss owns Buffy, Ryshar owns Highlander and John Ringo owns the Paladin of Shadows series.

1

(Caravanserai, Mike's office)

"You're taking all of this particularly well, Mister... Jenkins."

"Considering that you and Mister Harris come highly recommended by certain people, Miss Mcclay, that is the only reason that you two ever made it into my Valley. Tell me, is it true you've already killed two dozen men?"

Tara snorted and shook her head, her dark bangs veiling her eyes slightly, "That's a myth. I've only killed one."

"I see."

"Xander killed two directly and one other indirectly."

"Oh? How?"

"He cut one nearly in half with a sword, shot a second and blew up the van holding a third. It was very messy," Tara said blandly, throwing a look at Xander.

Xander simply shrugged but said nothing.

"Forgive me for saying this but you're a little blasé about killing them. It makes me worry what kind of people I could be putting Katya with."

"We live in secret, we work in shadow."

"Do you dress in black, too?"

"Only when they force me too," Xander said blandly. "Besides, as she's a barely functioning sociopath with homicidal tendencies, I'd be more worried about her instead of us."

Mike froze.

"You're not the only one with inside information, Mister… 'Jenkins.'"


	4. HP and the Awakened Darkness  partial

Harry Potter and the Awakened Darkness

Author: Anime Ronin

Rating: Mature, possibly Adult in the future.

Summary: An ancient evil has awakened and Magic calls forth a hero shunned by those he saved. Can Harry rise to the challenge? -Will- he?

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I own anything outside of the original characters created herein.

Warning: Dumbledore bashing. Maybe some Weasley bashing, too, but limited mostly to Ron and Molly, if any at all.

AN: This started out as a HP/Castlevania crossover but ended quite quickly as I didn't want a whip-wielding Harry or some BS like that. After a few weeks of haggling with muses and plot bunny (well, 'haggling' might be too strong of a word as the plot's changed a dozen times or so a day and I'm just along for the ride), this came of it. I'm not promising an epic or anything, but there will be some fun. Some bashing, too, but that's to be expected if you've read the Summary.

1

(Somewhere in Europe)

It was a place that had been largely forgotten by the locals, both muggle and wizards alike. A small town outside of a 'haunted' forest, one that stood at the foot of a mountain that, in times past, was rumored to be a stronghold for a very evil man (though occasionally the story said woman instead) that enjoyed abducting men, women and children from the countryside and do all sorts of horrible things to them. Like with many small towns, though, this was seen as a quaint method to attract tourists and it had worked.

Over the past decade or so, thanks to the tourism industry, the town had grown a bit, become more modern and had further forgotten the old stories, mixing and matching them just a bit, until someone had come upon the idea to lead nighttime sojourns into the forest, all the while regaling the tourists with ghost stories. The term 'cash cow' came to mind when the idea had come up and, indeed, it had been so... until the first people started going missing. At first it was just one or two backpackers or the elderly that were looking for a means of reclaiming their youth and, given the nature of the topography forest and the surrounding mountains, which contained valleys and sudden drop-offs and the occasional cave, they were written off as 'accidental deaths' with 'due to stupidity' being added in by the locals.

This, however, was not the case; there was nothing 'accidental' about their deaths. No, they were simply being used to feed a darkness that had awakened from it's centuries-long slumber... and it was still hungry.

(Rome, Italy)

Harry Potter sipped on his tea and smiled at the young waitress that had brought it to him, thanking her with a twinkle in his eyes. She blushed and smiled back, telling him that it was her pleasure as she slipped him the receipt for the drink. After watching her leave (or, rather, watching her bum as she left; gods above and below she had great pins to go with that bum...), he noticed that there were numbers written on the ticket and it took him a second to translate the words into 'Call me'. Chuckling as he tucked the slip away, he sipped his tea again and settled back into the chair, taking in the beauty around the small cafe. It was amazing what one could see when you actually took time to look and were not being hounded by everyone...

Tom Riddle, aka 'Lord Voldemort' had been resurrected by his blood during the Third Trial of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, an act that Harry had been powerless to stop. Albus 'For the Greater Good' Dumbledore had told him to not worry, that he would be protected by blood wards that surrounded Number Four, and that there would be around-the-clock protection for Harry should he need it. Harry, in his almost infantile way, had trusted the old man to make good on his promise and had nearly had a stroke when Albus had tried to blame him when Voldemort had marched right through the blood wards mere months later and had slaughtered the Dursleys wholesale.

The relationship of trust between the two had ended then and there as Harry refused to take the blame for what had happened. He had, in fact, laid the blame directly at Albus' feet by saying that the blood that flowed through Voldemort's veins was his blood and that Albus should have known that it would not have triggered the blood wards. He had laid the blame with the entire Crouch Junior situation at his feet, saying that he'd obviously taken leave of his senses if yet another person had 'slipped past' his screening processes to gain access to Hogwarts and the students. He then outright accused Albus of being in league with Voldemort, something that had apparently pushed the old man just a tick too far.

While most assuredly not his finest moment, Harry stuck by his wand and the accusation when the 'Chief Warlock' had, in a towering fury, told him to not dare speak of things he had no comprehension of. Harry, in turn, had told Albus that if this was an example of what kind of 'protection' he could expect, he was leaving Hogwarts and had done so. Dumbledore had, of course, come after him, stating that he was his guardian and, as such, he could not make such a decision, but Harry had gone to the one place that the old man couldn't just march in and take him – Gringotts.

After some talking, a few threats and some galleons changing hands, the goblins had informed him of the fact that the Wills of his parents had never been read due to meddling from Albus and had begun the reading on the spot. As the reading went, Harry's irritation with the entire situation had turned into a fury that shook the very foundations of the bank and sent more than a few goblins scurrying away for safety. Among other things, Harry was now Scion of Potter legally and emancipated, which gave him a great deal of leverage to use against Dumbledore. Harry took no small measure of pleasure in the look of horror on Albus' face when he told the old man such, showed him the ring and quit Hogwarts then and there. Yes, Harry knew that the Potter name was not much than that, a name, a seat here and there, and a legacy, but he did not care; he was free – free to live as he saw fit, free to fight, free to die if needed.

It had not been easy going, no, as he had essentially been destitute aside from his holdings in his trust account and some residual holdings that the goblins were taking care of after over a decade of being ignored. Not exactly new to adversity, Harry had squeaked by, buying what he could, when he could, preforming deeds and calling in favors owed to him. The Weasleys had, of course, offered help, but given how in bed they were with Albus, he had only accepted help from Fred and George, whose business was starting to take off. Hermione, too, had offered help and he had accepted it warmly... until she had pinned him with a glare, ordered him to sit down and then started ranting, raving and shouting to the highest heavens and lowest hells about this, that and the other. Had he not been so utterly terrified of her, he'd have cried in joy at how much she cared. Still, once the shouting, ranting and raving had finished, she had sniffed and hugged him, an act which had stunned him for a second before he slowly, if awkwardly, returned it.

Through correspondence courses he had taken and finished his fifth year of magical education, having to retake a few classes that he had passed previously but were so woefully out-dated that it behooved him to return to them. Learning had actually become fun, something that he'd marveled at for a time before he had buckled down to figure out what to do next.

Albus, though, had not been sedentary during all of this and had gone on a campaign to force him to come back. He had given interviews, made comments and basically been a royal pain. The public seemed to split in what to do, some of them siding with Harry as they saw Dumbledore as a meddling old fool while others saw Harry as taking control of his life (for once), while others saw this as Potter being a Potter and bucking a system that was there to protect him.

It had shocked Harry to no end when Draco's mother had chipped in her own two knuts by being quoted as saying that Harry was taking strides that his mother, father and Gryffindors would have and should have appreciated. She went on to say that while she'd had no personal experience with Harry since she had last seen him, mere months after his birth, she would refrain from making any other statements. Part of him wondered how poorly Draco and his father had taken such a comment while another, larger, part of him had simply smirked and made a note to thank Mrs. Malfoy when he had the chance.

Voldemort, too, had not been sedentary and had been sending his Death Eaters out and about, striking here and there, drawing attention from all types. In an open letter though The Daily Prophet, Voldemort had at once called Fudge and his entire staff 'fools' to deny that he, the Dark Lord, was back and that he would continue his strikes against mankind, both wizard and muggle, until Harry Potter was brought to him.

Once again Harry Potter found himself mostly alone as those that had helped him suddenly turned against him, save for a precious few; Hermione, bless her heart, had stuck by his side, as had Luna, Neville, Hannah Abbot and Susan Bones (though he was confused as to why they stuck by him). Madame Bones, aunt of Susan Bones had come out and stated that not only would Voldemort be brought to justice, dead or alive, but that she would not stand idly by while a young man was publicly crucified for standing up for himself. It was a pity that she was killed a week later as 'a message' by Voldemort's own people.

Taking more than a few risks to do so, Harry had slipped back into the world and visited Susan, who had been utterly shattered by the murder of her aunt. She had, naturally, been shocked at his sudden appearance and cried torrents of tears as she hugged him, asking him why this was happening. He had, of course, had nothing to say and could only hold her and stroke her hair and back as she sobbed, all the while starting to put together plans of his own. How many children, parents and siblings had cried these tears before of Voldemort's forces? How many had died, been killed, for no reason? This line of thought made Harry angry. Very, very angry.

After staying the night with Susan, holding her as she cried and, later, as she slept, a fact which had caused no small amount of embarrassment as she was a very pretty girl and his hormones had started awakening of late, he left with promises to come back to check up on her.


	5. Chapter 5

Making an Entrance

Author: Anime Ronin

Rating: General

Summary: They say that you should go out with a bang. Dropping in with a scream also works, too.

Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy or the Paladin of Shadows series. Those belong to Joss and John Ringo.

AN: A little one-shot to try and get the creative juices flowing.

1

"I thought I said for you to stay out of trouble, Xander."

Behind bars, Xander said nothing.

Willow sighed and turned to the man known as 'the Kildar' and arched an eyebrow.

Mike, for his part, was entirely confused. The one-eyed man had appeared literally out of thin air and had dropped into the stone ring with the ox that had been put in there for 'the trials'. In fact, to be fair, he'd _landed_ on said creature and the ox had not taken it particularly well, so it had proceeded to chase the one-eyed man around for a few minutes. Once it was in position, though, it hooked him in the outer part of the thigh and had thrown him upwards, looking quite smug about it, too, but through some flailing acrobatics and no small amount of dumb luck the guy had landed on the animal's back again, this time in classic 'cowboy' fashion.

Mike's iron discipline kept him from clenching his thighs together at the nearly-silent scream that had issued from the man's mouth. Kildar or not, landing nuts first on an animal's back hurt.

Then the bucking began.

"Well?" the pretty redhead asked, interrupting his train of thought.

"Um, given this is my land and both he and you have come here uninvited, maybe you should tell me who the hell you are first."

She scrunched up her nose a little bit, as if thinking, but then she nodded, "Alright. My name's Willow Rosenberg. He's Xander, by the way, in case he went all silent and didn't want to tell you anything," she chipped in, nodding back at the guy behind the bars.

Mike knew this already from the guy's wallet but he inwardly cringed at the young woman's total lack of operational security. From the looks of it, the guy was none too happy about it, either. "Okay. Why are you here?"

"To get him."

"…Alright. Why is _he_ here?"

This made the young woman blush and Mike found it quite fetching, actually. "Um, well, you see… there was an accident." This got a snort out of the guy in the cell and then got him glared at by the redhead. "Well, it was! If you hadn't come into my lab when you did and messed up the-"

"Ixnay, Wills. Remember that long talk we had about operational security? We don't know this guy from Caleb."

Mike blinked at the deliberate name dropping and at the way the redhead paled a bit before she muttered something under her breath he didn't quite catch, a mutter that kept going on and on and on and on for nearly thirty seconds before the guy stopped it with a, "Stop, Willow. Breathe." He looked up and shrugged a bit, "Sorry. When she starts babbling, sometimes she forgets to do little things like breathe and use correct verbal punctuations."

"You haven't said this much in four days."

"I've been doing my best Oz impersonation." This got a punch in the shoulder from the redhead through the bars, "Ow!"

"Um, excuse me?" Both stopped and looked back at Mike, who went on, "What the hell are you two doing here? And why haven't you said anything before now?"

"I'm here because _someone_ doesn't know how to put the red light on outside of her door that I spent three weeks wiring in so that this didn't happen. Willow's… experiments… have a way of going 'boom' sometimes and after the third time I got tired of it, hence the light. As for the not talking thing… I don't respond well to threats or guns being pointed at me."

"You appear out of thin air and expect… what? Clean sheets and a buffet?"

"No, but I don't expect five of your goons drawing down on me or getting buttstroked in the head by that one little spitfire."

A little something I needed a place to put up. Not sure if it'll bloom into anything but, hey, that's what I have this catch-all for.


	6. Chapter 6

Bloody Pirates and Wenches

Author: Anime Ronin

Rating: M

Summary: A rash of killings has started again and sometimes the professionals have to call in other professionals… who occasionally are not so professional.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, neither NCIS: LA or Buffy.

1

"Is something wrong, Mister Deeks?"

"Maybe," Deeks allowed to Hetty as he looked at the crime scene photos. Calling it a blood bath would have been generous. G had closed his eyes and had shaken his head at the senselessness of it all. Even Sam, hardened SEAL that he was, had flinched.

"Would you like to share with the rest of the class, then?"

"This much blood… and not a single footprint? That's reminding me of something."

"A bad horror film?" Kensi chipped in weakly as she tried to not focus on the pictures.

"More like a bad date." Deeks instantly winced at the words that he couldn't take back.

"Yeah, I can see how ending up like those guys could qualify as a bad date." And here came Eric for the save!

G ignored the comment and looked at their LAPD liaison, "What are you talking about, Deeks?"

"Back before I was a cop, when I was a lawyer, I played the field a bit."

"Shocking!" Kensi gasped.

Going on as if she hadn't spoken, Deeks sighed, "Well, one night I was out with this woman and she was smoking hot. I mean, easily a nine out of ten, and things were going along nice, you know? Dinner, dancing, a little wine… the good stuff, too. And she was paying."

"Definitely a solid nine." This time Eric's comment got him smacked by both Kensi and Nell and made him whine.

"Anyway, we were going back to her place when she pulled off into this alleyway and she killed the car. I was thinking that she couldn't wait but then she just… something changed about her. She went from the whole sexpot thing to a predator and pulled out a knife."

"Mister Deeks, while this _does_ sound troubling, what does your past exploits have to do with our current case?"

"I did a little looking into her after I eventually got away and found out the knife she had pulled on me was a kind used was very specific. Obsidian blade, surgical, something that could cut you so easily that you didn't even notice you were bleeding. Those wounds on the wrists and necks of the victims are too clean, too surgical, for just any blade," Deeks finished in a rush, pointing at the photos. "And back then there were stories about bodies found like this, but only one or two. I think the cops even caught the guy and sent him to jail."

Eric and Nell were instantly on their computers and it only took seconds for Nell to come back with the answer, "Yes, they did. Donald 'Dorian' Gray, age thirty nine, convicted of seven murders and he was sentenced to death row because of the brutality of the crimes."

"Is he still around?"

"Um… no. He was found dead in his cell three years ago," Eric said, quickly one-upping Nell, "which is odd because he was in Isolation due to some death threats he'd gotten from some of the other inmates. Found with his throat cut and a razor next to him. Cops wrote it off as a suicide after a cursory investigation."

"So either he was a patsy, the wrong guy entirely or we have a copycat that's a lot better than he was." Sam's voice was grim and nobody was happy with the choices, least of all Deeks. "Eric, get the files from the prison about Gray's case. See if anything between the two cases match up."

"On it."

"In the meantime, might I suggest that you continue investigating the murders of our young sailors? Scoundrels they might have been but very few people deserve to die like they did," Hetty opined as the team broke up and left Ops… except for one. "Mister Deeks?"

"Can we talk in private, Hetty?"

Hetty gave Marty a look but nodded and they went to her office, a domain that few dared to intrude on without her permission. Except for Callen. Cheeky bugger. "What is it, Mister Deeks?"

"Some of the story isn't in the files that Eric and Nell are going to dig up."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. There was a guy there that night, in the alley, and he saved my bacon."

"I see."

"He… he was _hunting_, Hetty. Her. She'd been doing this a while, I guess, and he was going to make sure she never did it again."

"Ah," Hetty sighed, nodding her head and crossing her hands into her lap. "And you never told this to the police?"

"No. There was no need. She got away and the guy did save me, so I figured I owed him one or ten." Deeks knew that he was digging himself a damned deep grave but it was better Hetty knew about this now instead of it blowing up in their faces later.

"I see. Did you ever identify him?"

"I did," Deeks said with a nod, reaching into his wallet and taking out a plain white business card with a name and a long series of numbers scrawled onto the back. "His name is Alexander Harris. I know he was born in Sunnydale and was one of the last to get out when it sank like the Titanic but after that… Hetty, this guy has someone protecting him. I did a search on him about two years ago, you know, just for giggles, and my computer blew up a minute later. Ten minutes after _that_ was getting my ass chewed out by my boss, who'd just been contacted by someone at State about me looking into someone I wasn't supposed to."

This made Hetty frown. The MO sounded familiar, as did the name, but she'd be damned if she could remember why. "I see. And what would you have me do?"

"Find him? Call him? I don't know, I just thought you might need to."

"Very well, Mister Deeks. Now go, and tell Miss Blye that if I find another candy bar shoved between the seats of her car, I'm going to make her clean it herself."

"Another one? What was it this time? Twinkie? Ring Dings?"

"A Reese's."

Deeks grimaced. Those things made the car smell like chocolate and peanut butter for weeks. Worse, it made him hungry. "Gotcha."

Deeks left and Hetty sat at her desk for a long few minutes before she picked up the phone and started to dial the number on the back of the card. It was too long to be a domestic number and, unless she was very mistaken, the country index was from Scotland.

The phone buzzed a few times before someone on the other end picked up. A young someone, someone trained by a professional. "Thank you for calling the Joyce Summers School for Gifted Girls, this is Monica. How may I direct your call, sir or ma'am?"

"Alexander Harris, please."

There was a distinct pause on the other end and the voice came back, not sounding so young and was now sounding very, very guarded. "May I ask who is calling?"

"Henrietta Lange, in reference to one Marty Deeks. Mister Harris supposedly met him several years back in LA and saved him from a very bad date."

The voice snorted, as if it was a big joke, but came back with, "One moment, please."

Hetty nodded unconsciously as she was put on hold and found herself smiling as the music picked up into a rousing rendition of 'The Wall' by Pink Floyd.

"Why the hell would this woman be calling you, Xander? I mean, LOOK at her file?"

"I am, Willow. Black on black really isn't inspiring confidence."

Willow glared at him but continued to type, pausing only long enough to push her glasses up on her nose a bit. They were a little bit of an affection, yes, her 'oh, look at me, I look smarter now' glasses, kind of like David Tenant in Doctor Who, but they also had a little spell charmed into them to help relieve her tension headaches from when she did a lot of computer work. It'd taken her a whole ten minutes just to get this far and, from the looks of it, she wasn't going to get any further without some serious help. "And who is this Marty Deeks guy she's talking about?"

"Um… kinda drawing a blank, Wills," he admitted to her with a shrug. "Do you have any idea how many people I do the whole meet and greet thing with every year? I can't remember that many people."

Willow had some sympathy for him in this regard. Buffy was the nominal 'face' of the Slayers group, yes, but Xander was often the one sent to talk to the parents or guardians and explain what had happened. He was good with people like that. "Then we're going to have to go into this blind."

"Can we not go into this at all?" he asked hopefully. Her glare in return gave him all the answer he needed. Coughing a few times, he picked up the phone and hit the blinking button, "Hello? Talk Radio, you're on the air."

On the other end of the line, Hetty smiled a little. An irreverent sense of humor; she liked that in a man so long as he knew when to stow it. "Mister Harris? Mister Alexander Harris?"

"Um, yeah. Look, if this is about a debt my uncle owed you, I'm sorry but you're a little late to collect. He died last year."

"No, I assure you it's nothing of the sort. I'm calling in regards to one Marty Deeks."

"…Okay. Look, you're going to have to be a little more specific. I meet dozens of people a week, so sometimes the details get lost."

"You saved him from a woman who was about to bleed him to death in a Los Angeles alleyway several years back and gave him your card."

Willow glared at Xander and Xander felt a disturbance in the Force. "Ah, yeah, that sounds vaguely familiar. What's up?"

"We were reviewing the incident due to a crime spree that shows several similar characteristics and I would like to ask you a few questions if I could."

Willow's glare increased and Xander sighed. "Yeah, about that… we left that off the books for a reason, Ms. Lange, and I'm not sure why I should get involved."

"I would cite that it is a civic duty, Mister Harris, but somehow I doubt that would work on you. Does your school's communications room have MTAC capabilities?"

Warning bells went off in Xander's head and Willow's, too, and the redhead went back to hacking. MTAC capabilities meant government, mostly. "I'm sorry, Ms. Lange, but who did you say you were with?"

"Naval Criminal Investigative Services, the Office of Special Projects."

"Right. I'll call you back on this line in ten minutes." Xander hung up the phone and sighed, sitting down in his chair a bit and slumping a little. "Wills?"

"Yeah?"

"I think we're in trouble. Navy cops."

"Do you want me to call Riley?"

"He's Army. Army and Navy no mixy."

"You're sounding like Buffy now."

Xander's mature response was to stick his tongue out at her.

Hetty stood in front of the screen for a second before she nodded, "A secure setting, Mister Beal."

Eric nodded and began to tap away on his hand-held device. Instantly the back of Ops was blurred out on the screen to where only Hetty and things in front of her were clearly visible, but then the background was replaced by something fairly generic, an office setting. It was a little something he and Nell (well, mostly Nell, but he liked to think that he'd done a great deal of the grunt work) had come up with late one night while they had been bored and Hetty had made sure that there were no games being played in Ops. It was, in theory, a level of security. The computers in the background were fairly specialized and could feasibly be traced by sight, so if they were not visible, problem solved. It wasn't perfect, though. No, there'd have had to be a green screen or something behind Hetty, but that would have raised too many questions and would have been a hassle to put up and down.

The screen fuzzed for a second and a man sat down in front of the camera. Young-ish, one of those faces that could have been twenty or thirty, depending on the light, dark hair that was grown out a little long and a few small scars that were visible along the jawline and cheek, but what drew Eric's eyes was the eye patch worn rather rakishly. How did you wear an eye patch rakishly, one might ask? The skull and crossbones didn't hurt matters any. "Ms. Lange, I presume?"

"And you would be Mister Harris, yes?"

"Xander, please, or Alexander. Mister Harris was my father and my uncle. They had other names, too, but there are women and children present on this end of things. Virgin ears and all that," the man said with a half-smirk that vanished when something bounced off of the side of his head. "Lisa, not while I'm on the video phone. Grownups at work." This time whatever was thrown bounced off of his forehead and the thrower said something in what sounded to be French, something that Eric didn't quite pick up. "Never work with children or animals, Ms. Lange. It never ends well. So, what can I do you for?"

"Mister Marty Deeks said you might be able to help out with a bit of a problem. I would show you a few of the pictures but they are quite graphic and, as you said, there are children and women in the room."

Harris smiled at the camera but it was a little strained as he nodded, "Yeah, I can see that. Ms. Lange, to be fair, I'm having a hard time remembering the guy."

"Saving a man from a knife-wielding woman in a dark alleyway isn't something that sticks out in your mind?"

"You'd be surprised how often that happens, actually." The response was surprisingly deadpan and that caused Eric and Nell to both raise an eyebrow to it.

"He told me you were hunting her, that she had done this to more than a few people."

"That narrows it down a little more," the guy allowed as Eric took a series of pictures and started running them through several facial recognition programs he had. "Anything else?"

"He was a lawyer at the time but has since moved on to the LAPD."

"…Yeah, I do remember him now. Looked like the prototypical beach bum? Long, sandy hair, perma-stubble?"

"That would be him."

"Cool. If he's with the LAPD, what's he doing working with OSP? I mean, I know you're the Navy's undercover people and all that but I figured you wouldn't farm things like that out."

"The needs must, Alexander. One must not allow potential to slip by."

"Understood, though I hope you don't intend on poaching him. Trust me, we did that a few times and… well, it didn't go well. Government agencies tend to be like children in that respect." Harris looked off-screen and pointed his fingers at someone or several someones, "You know it's true, so don't deny it. I have pictures and I'm not afraid to use them."

Hetty couldn't help but smile. Finally, someone knew her pain… "When can we expect you?"

"I'll be there at zero seven tomorrow morning. Be advised, I don't do jet lag or mornings very well, so I might have a few gallons of coffee in my system by then."

Another uncultured barbarian who did not appreciate the power of tea.


	7. On The Farm

On The Farm

Author: Anime Ronin

Summary:

Disclaimer: I do not own Jake 2.0, Covert Affairs or Splinter Cell and am making no money off of this.

AN:

1

She knew he was there from the way that the air flow in her office deviated just a bit and she could only think of two people could sneak into her office like that without raising some kind of an alarm. "Sam."

'Sam' smiled at her and nodded in return, "Lou. It's been a while." He stood a little over six feet tall, he was still fit as a fiddle and, aside from the stubble that decorated his face she knew that he could have passed for any agent instructor of any covert branch any day of the week. She knew that the NSA preferred their people to be more clean-shaven.

"It has. What brings the legend back to his old stomping ground?" Deputy Director Louise Beckett asked with a smile as she fully looked up from her paperwork.

"Your kid." Sam wasn't overly talkative, she knew, and getting more than a few words out of him at any one time when the situation wasn't dire was difficult.

Louise paused. Her kid? "What?"

"Foley."

Ah… "Jake? What about him?"

"Rumors fly around at warp ten, Lou, and I've heard a lot of them with the kid. He's green as grass and you've got him out on ops he has no reason to be on."

Louise sighed, feeling a familiar headache forming. Most of these headaches were caused by Jake these days… "Jake was never a field agent, Sam, but circumstances beyond our control necessitated that he be made into a field agent."

"Yeah, the nanites."

"Where did you hear about them? _WHAT_ did you hear about them?" Louise asked, her tone glacial.

"The same stuff everyone else has heard," Sam said with a shrug. "Point is, Lou, I'm not here to poach the kid from you. I'm offering to train him."

This brought her up short. "What? Why?"

"Because his mission rating is so low that it's dangerously pathetic. Yeah, he gets the job done… eventually, but how would you like for him to get the job done right the _first_ time?" Sam asked, sitting down in the chair across from her unasked.

Louise had, of course, heard about Sam's recent doings but didn't have the clearance to know everything. Regardless, he was one of the _best_. He was old school, a former SEAL, an intelligence officer at the Pentagon, and a one-man covert ops team par excellence. And he was offering to teach Jake. "What's the catch?"

Sam smiled at her. Good. She was learning. "He'd be out of your house and under my control for the duration of the teaching, Lou. I'm not knocking what you're trying to do for the kid but I think that you can't separate yourself from him, nor can his teachers. I'll just be giving him the basics for now, stuff that any raw recruit would have to do."

This made her relax just a little. "You mean The Farm."

"If he can't pass there, you know that he doesn't have _any_ business out in the field." Sam said with a nod.

Louise grimaced. Sam had a point. Worse, she knew that he knew it. "Jake's a good kid, Sam, and I wouldn't want to hurt him because of it."

"So you'd rather see him killed because one of his ops went south quicker than usual?" Sam countered ruthlessly. "I'm not asking for anything unreasonable, Louise."

"No, but you're asking for something you're not cleared to ask about. More importantly, you're asking for something I don't know the end game to. Okay, so Jake gets trained and he becomes one hell of an agent; then what? Is he going to get poached by Echelon?"

Now it was Sam's turn to grimace. How in the hell did she know about Third Echelon? Or was she just fishing? He'd forgotten how hard it was to play poker with the woman. "You know I can't talk about it, Louise."

"Well until you can talk about it, no sale, Sam."

"I'm trying to do you a favor, Lou."

"And I know how the game is played, Sam. Don't insult me."

Sam looked at her for a moment before he nodded. "Alright, if that's how it's going to be… I'll see you around." Leaving, he had a smile on his lips. He wasn't mad; it was counter-productive to get angry. No, he'd just have to do things a different way…

(Training Facility B)

Jake hit the ground with a dull thud and a grunt, having fallen from only two feet, but it was about the one hundredth time that day that he'd fallen and he was too worn out to do more than grunt anymore.

"Jake, you have to concentrate. This isn't like hopping over a low wall," Kyle Duarte, former field agent and Jake's primary instructor to the tradecraft skills, said with a sigh as he slowly let himself down from the wall he'd been climbing up. The exercise itself was a simple one, catching oneself on a ledge, but it was hard on the fingers after a while and Kyle himself didn't remember his arms, back and shoulders hurting this much when he'd learned it. "You have to anticipate and not go stiff like you were."

Jake finally found the energy to roll over and sit up, wincing as he did. His shoulder was killing him… "Kyle, you make it sound like this is going to happen a lot."

"It happens more than you think, Jake, but you've been lucky so far. Trust me, it doesn't get any easier as you get older," Kyle added with a mutter, rolling his own shoulders.

Jake was about to object to Kyle's comment when a noise caught his attention, causing him to look up. A man was above them and rather calmly shuffling along the edge of the ledge on his fingertips, something that made Jake's fingers hurt just watching, but then he curled his legs under him a little and kicked away from the ledge, falling quietly and landing with a soft 'thump' between him and Kyle.

Jake was slightly in awe over this. Kyle… wasn't. "Son of a bitch. What are you doing here, Fisher?"

"I was just hanging around and thought I'd drop in."

Silence greeted this comment for a second and then Jake groaned.

"What?"

"Seriously? It was a bad joke."

The man shrugged, looking entirely unapologetic, "I thought it was funny."

"I don't," Kyle said with a growl. "So what are you doing here, Sam?"

"I was just watching and I've gotta say I'm not impressed. I mean it's taken you... what? Two months to get to this point? I can do this stuff in my _sleep_."

"Jake's not a SEAL, Sam, and he's just learning."

"And you're taking it easy on him. Any other teacher would have kicked his ass out of the program by now because they were not ready. So why haven't you? Orders? Or maybe you just feel sorry for him?"

Jake's temper started to rise a bit. He'd had enough of people feeling sorry for him...


End file.
